


i'm an architect of days that haven't happened yet

by cinderlily



Series: love is a verb [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:57:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carey has his dream the spring before his 14th birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm an architect of days that haven't happened yet

Carey has his Dream the spring before his 14th birthday, early but still a respectable age for a guy to get his Dream. Carey would have been okay had it waited a little longer, but he’d admit that he was even more glad that he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. He was constantly hearing from the guys around him about _their_ Dreams. How they were getting them, or how their brothers or sisters got theirs. 

It was everywhere and always and he felt like it was taking away from the important stuff. The important stuff being … well. Hockey. 

His grandma had given him and his cousins the talk about Dreams. About how they meant a lot not only to people in general but to the First Nations' people in general. How everything could be seen in a dream if you actually took a chance to look for it. When he was 9 and getting the talk he remember thinking that he would do anything to make sure he remembered every inch of it. His grandma was a genius, her word was the closest to gospel he thought ever existed. 

The problem was, at very very first? He had no idea that he was _having_ his Dream. It felt… familiar. Warm, even though he was on ice. Happy, but he was _on ice_. He often dreamed about being in front of the net. But the thing was, usually it was mid action, pucks coming at him that would differ from the size of pennies to the size of basketballs. He tried his best to deflect them… most nights he would. 

This time though, there was just one guy, a kid really, on the ice. Facing away from him. 

Which was about the time that he realized where he was and why he was there. His heart began to beat fast in his chest. He was having his Dream. And his soulmate… was a hockey player. A _male_ hockey player.

(Not that he particularly cared, he actually thought it might end up being good. As long as they played on the same team and maybe if the kid was Canadian that would make things easier…) 

“Hey kid!” he called out, a little desperate to try and remember everything around them. 

They were in the forest, it looked a little like the one near his family’s cabin. He lifted his mask. 

“Who you calling kid?” 

He would laugh but he didn’t want to start on a bad foot. Just… come on. The kid-- the guy couldn’t be in his teens. He was tiny and looked kind of skittish. (And oh god, they better not meet until they’re older because he is not that into babysitting his _soulmate_.) 

“We gonna play or what?” He tapped his shin guards and pulled down his mask, hiding the shit eating grin. This wasn’t even a competition, he could take this kid in his sleep. 

Except the kid had … well. Speed to be sure and a little bit of flare. He liked watching him go down the ice. It was like he was watching in slow motion. The way he flew towards him, his uniform changing colors rapidly. He tried to catch them but it didn’t seem possible. Red? Orange? No that one was gold. Back to red. Blue. Red, blue, red…

He saw as the guy began to deke left before he took his shot and his hand popped up to catch it just in time. He grinned wider. At least he was a _good player_ or had potential to be. 

“ _That was a gimme, come on, second chance_...” 

And yet he was also a kid. Carey shook his head and frowned. 

“That’s not how this works,” he said, and something in the pit of his stomach felt a strange pull. Everything was going fuzzy. “But sometime, you got me?”

He tried to pull out the littlest of details, the way the trees bowed towards them. The smell of aftershave and ice. The kid’s annoyed glare. 

“Not fair!”

Then he woke up.

He thought about trying to tell his sister, but she had about as much of a chance of keeping her trap shut as he did making it to the show that summer. So he instead he snuck downstairs to call his grandpa. 

“Carey,” his grandma greeted him warmly. It still weirded him out his grandparents got caller ID. He’d half thought the first time that his grandma had developed foresight but yeah. That wasn’t true. 

(Okay, he was mostly convinced that it wasn’t true at least.) 

“I had my Dream,” he let out in one single breath. 

“Oh Carey,” she said, and he heard every inch of her smile. “That’s good, love. That’s very good. Tell me about it.” 

Carey had a stuttering moment where he thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d forgotten most of it. He panicked. But then he exhale slowly and tried to start from the very beginning. 

“I was on the ice…” 

His grandma clucked her tongue and he felt himself blush. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone in his family when he said something about the ice. He was a little single focused. 

“But this was different. Everything seemed… simple. Warm. And _he_ was there.” 

Which, come to think of it, was not the best way to come out to his grandmother. But she seemed unfazed by it. So he continued. Telling her as many of the details that he could remember, which, as time went by, was a lot. The way the trees folded towards him. The colors on the kid’s jersey, the color beneath the ice, the smells. 

The only thing he kept to himself was the kid. The way he had a smile that took over his whole face. The fact that he laughed and it was infectious. It seemed like it was the one part that was solely his and that betraying that would be some kind of breach of trust. 

“So you will meet on the rink,” she said, after a minute of silence. “Which won’t shock anyone in your life. In competition? But you seemed to be playing together. Oh Carey. This is beautiful. Are you happy?” 

That was a good question. That was a great question. He’d been so …excited … maybe exhilarated by having the dream that he hadn’t really taken stock of anything else around him. 

He’d been happy in the dream. Warm and happy. He couldn’t even help but think of the kid’s smile. That made him happy. But now he had this thing hanging over his head, this huge thing that meant something to everyone. His Dream. His soulmate. He should be unreservedly happy, right? 

“I… Don’t know,” he said, cause how could he lie to his grandma?

“Good,” she responded with a laugh. “You are young, Carey. You have a lot of things ahead of you. If you thought this was just some game to play I would be concerned. But you have a head on your shoulders. You have the future, now let it play out. Don’t seek it out, but don’t let it pass you by.” 

*

He took his grandma’s advice to heart. He never sought it out, not that it would be hard. Black players a few years younger than him? Not exactly a dime a dozen in the hockey world. But he was kept busy enough to not look too hard. He spent his time doing what he needed to do.

He trained. He worked through the Tri-City. Got drafted _fifth_ by the freaking Habs. His whole world went by fast after that. To the point that some of it was a blur. Which basically meant that getting to the Show was a shock and the last thing on his mind was the kid in his dream. 

Except… sometimes. Sometimes he would wake up from a dream and feel like he’d seen him. Briefly. He would imagine the smile, he would hear the laughter. It was like an echo to remind him what he was supposed to be looking for. 

After two years of playing for the team he was still getting comfortable ahead of the net. It was weird, being depended on at such a young age but he liked the feel of it. Even if it meant he had to be there earlier than everyone else and stay late to keep himself on pace. He was willing to do that. 

He heard rumblings of a Bulldog being called up but didn’t really pay it any mind because people got called up and down all the time. He went to his practice like he always did. He put his gear on and skated on to the ice.

That was until someone new hit the ice and his whole body felt the room change. The air became a little thicker, the movement a little slower. It was weird, no one else seemed to be feeling it but his whole world shifted. He looked across the ice and found the new guy on the ice and he _knew_.

The kid… had grown up. Stupid thought, really, but it was the way it was. The scrawny looking scared boy on the ice was now a taller guy. The age difference didn’t seem so absolutely epic. 

It took a minute to realize he was still getting pucks thrown at him, but he had at least enough muscle memory to keep most out of the net. He put up his hand to ask for time. 

He pulled his mask up and grabbed his hand out of his glove, cupping it around his mouth, to try and make his voice echo. “Hey kid!” 

He took one of the pucks from in front of him and tossed it across the ice, it landed close enough for the guy to grab it and play with it. He seemed to mutter something, something Carey couldn’t hear from all the way across the ice but he had a good idea what it was. He’d only played that dream in his head a thousand times. 

Suddenly the guy was skating forward, his whole body pushing at high speed. Carey pulled his helmet down and braced himself. He could laugh at how simple it was, his heart beating fast but everything else going slow around him. He remembered someone, maybe his mom or one of his cousins, describing meeting their soul mate like watching it from a distance. 

A part of him could see that, except he felt aware of every inch of his body. Every muscle, every beat of his pulse. Somehow, also, he felt aware of the guy’s. Could see how his body was about to turn, about to give way to the other side. Maybe it was that sensation, or all the replays of the dream that had him set up on his right foot the second before the puck hit his glove. 

The slap of the puck seemed to signal the end of slow speed and he felt his smile stretch his face. He couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled up his mask. 

“It didn’t work the first time, what made you think it’d work this time?”

He could see as the penny dropped for the other guy and suddenly a finger was inches from his face. “You. You _fucker_.” 

If he’d had his hat on he’d tip it but instead he just shrugged. “I prefer Carey.” 

The guy eyes were so round he thought they might go popping out of his head, but he answered in kind. “PK.” 

He started to laugh, how could he not? The guy he’d spent his entire adulthood looking for was named for what he spent his career avoiding. 

“You’re shitting me.” 

There was a smile and a half a shrug. “Better than the alternative.” 

From a little way behind PK he heard a cough and he flicked his eyes to see Maxim giving him a meaningful glare. He tried to resist the urge to turn bright red, he would never live that shit down. Instead he brushed a lock of hair out of his face and cocked his head. 

“You want to try again?” 

PK looked around and when he looked back he saw that he wasn’t the only one to forget the presence of others.

He grabbed a puck from in front of him and tossed it at PK who grinned. 

“Well it took you long enough.”

  
_You got me swaying right along to the song in your heart_  
_And a face to call home_  
_A face to call home_  
_You got a face to call home_ -John Mayer "A Face To Call Home" 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to sly_fck and Laynie for holding my hand. <3 
> 
> Un betaed. :/
> 
> Part three might be up in a week or so.


End file.
